Thursday, November 30, 2006


My afterprom party

This is Mel's assignment for my blogging. And I guess what happens when you're waiting to be allowed to seek employment and just killing time all day, wiling away the hours express mailing dissertations on 20-24 lb. Acid free paper. After all, Mel says, "I'd be interested in hearing about that. From a purely anthropological perspective."

My afterprom party was a lock-in. No one else had these past the age of 12, or so I'm told. But not in my town. We spent all night at Memorial Hall and our parents did skits and sang spoof songs. We all went, though I have no idea why. All 100 of us. Who had been in school together since kindergarten. A silent, lifelong culmination of quiet coercion. We'd all been led to believe that this was normal, obligatory, and not the complete torture that it turned out to be. There was pizza and pop.

Why? We'd all already had sex, done drugs, and gotten drunk in the hour between the prom itself and the after party. After vomiting and getting off in the valley, we all felt so much better and many of us could even stomach listening to our parents sing "Will you still need us, will you still feed us, class of 94" in straw boater hats and hobo suspenders.

Oh how I wish I was there. It sounds like a blast.
I never went to prom, and therefore had no party. But my sixteenth birthday party was on shell island (as in, island. surrounded by water. Forever) with 23 of my friends and an assload of liquor because my dad felt that children should be allowed to drink when they want to. My dad ditched us and anchored 30 feet offshore with the requirement that "any child conceived on this island must be named after me."
It was fun. No conception though, since everyone was gay, except for one person who made an exception for that weekend.
We had a lock in for after-grad at a local health and racquet ball club. I guess other people did these things in 1994 after all.
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